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Cassette 8: Ohara Museum of Art (1980)/Transcript
This is the official transcript for the episode which can also be accessed for free at'' patreon.com/withinthewires. This transcript contained major discrepancies from the episode which have been indicated in the transcript body. Minor errors have also been corrected, these are listed at the bottom of the page.'' LEAH: Hello, I am curator Leah Akane, welcoming you to the Ohara Museum of Art, and our special exhibit of the work of the late Claudia Atieno. Toward the end of Atieno’s life, it was suggested by friends that she was working toward more epic depictions. But as those works are unfinished, or perhaps, not begun, we have but her more intimate concepts. In this exhibit, we will see some of Atieno’s more political tributes to classic works, which were lost in the Great Reckoning. We also have the rarely displayed “Attentiveness,” which I feel has been an underrated part of Atieno’s catalogue. Narrating your audio guide is journalist, artist, and dear friend of Atieno, Roimata Mangakahia. We are blessed to have Mangakahia’s knowledge not only of Atieno as an artist, but as a person. While not nearly as successful as her late friend, Mangakahia has been an invaluable champion of Atieno’s work, perhaps as important to Atieno’s popularity as Atieno’s own talent. We hope you find deeper understanding and appreciation for Atieno’s work, a life in art sadly cut short. The exhibit begins in the main gallery. Artworks included in the audioguide are numbered. Enjoy your time at the Ohara Museum of Art #TONE# ROIMATA: One: Stars (oil on canvas) Little remains of impressionist Vincent van Gogh's work. There are a handful of photographs of Starry Night, and a portion of what remains of the painting hangs in Manhattan's Museum of Modern Art (its new Harlem Island structure - a masterpiece of modern architecture). Many works of the European masters were lost in the Great Reckoning. Many works by artists worldwide were lost, but at the center of Western art history were the impressionists. Starry Night, Manet's Olympia, Cezanne's The Card Players. These paintings are often recreated by artists in our new Society, an exercise in cultural reclamation, of course, an attempt to return to the knowledge and art and history that was lost after the war. But with Stars, Atieno took this replication trend in a new direction, a direction that rejected recreating what was lost. In fact, Atieno's replicas were more reappropriations of classic images. In her way, Atieno was rejecting a return to the past and embracing the Society - albeit the Society she wanted, not the Society that was. From the moment I first met Claudia in 1970, she was obsessed with replications. In Stars, she takes the stylized swirls and moist twinkling glimmer of twilight, and brings all of its vibrant motion to a halt. The irony of Atieno's version of Stars is its complete lack of stars. The black sky looms above a charcoal city at night, mostly war scarred and evacuated or, worse, eradicated. The stars likely shine and soar behind the choking clouds, unaware and unobserved. What we see is merely a moon struggling to be seen in a humid black haze above the town. Notice, in the center of her painting, the church spire - broken; the rising hills along the right - rocky and charred; the homes - dim and roofless. There are large spirals of smoke mirroring van Gogh's inspired blue swirls, but in Atieno's Stars, we see only variations of gray. The one contrast in her bleak landscape is the tall flames in the foreground on the left. Did you ever go to church? What is a spire? Did God do this to us? If so, whose god? Some critics refer to this as a fire representing the destruction of the Reckoning, but I believe Atieno was attempting to evoke a bonfire, a possible celebration by the townspeople in the universe of her painting. A communal fire to burn old art, books, clothes, and doctrines of the tribes which lead the world to such destruction. The Art of War, obviously. Paintings and written accounts of war heroes, as we knew now that war holds no place for heroes. All themes of national superiority were turned, one by one, to ash. Underneath the bleak sky, we have a fire of a new day, of a new people wishing to rid themselves of the baggage of their past, the treachery of nation states and family. It's a brilliant work, and perfect approach to artistic repurposing. It's difficult to say when repurposing becomes just a copy, or plagiarism. Sometimes, even the artist doesn't know where to draw the line. #TONE# Two: Attentiveness (oil on canvas) Many critics claim Atieno's Attentiveness is her most garish work, noting its bold, almost clumsy strokes and its unsubtle praise of her own fame and wealth. I don't disagree with them, but I would hate to completely dismiss this work, simply for its lack of tact and technique. While Atieno never stated directly that it was a self-portrait, it's easy to place her as the woman central to this painting. Her narrow shoulders, and short stature, contrasted against long dark, braided hair. The woman is exiting a luxury automobile, her head turned from the viewer, and a woman on the other side of the open car door taking a camera from her bag. Look at the photographer's mouth. Agape. Caught in a moment of surprise and awe at this chance encounter with a celebrity. Have you ever seen a celebrity? Were you this obvious about it? Are you impressed by luxury automobiles? Do you wear driving gloves? While she often bemoaned the loss of her anonymity, and by extension, a freedom of self, Atieno most certainly relished the attention her career provided her. She would shower, dress, put on make up, take off make up, undress, shower again and repeat the process for 2 hours before a gallery opening. She always dressed fashionably, but in private parties or events, she carried herself casually and comfortably. She did not like photographs, only compliments. She grew bored with conversations that did not acknowledge her talents at least occasionally. I had many conversations with Claudia that acknowledged her talents, as I urged her to focus on larger projects, pieces that could continue to impact the art world, as she slipped further and further into lazy drawings of discarded papers, and staplers, and weak forgeries disguised as "tributes." I told her about her incredible talents, and she liked that part. I followed it up with a critique of her process, and that she liked less. In Attentiveness, Atieno does not paint the face of the woman, only the face of the woman who sees her. Look again into the photographer's stunned face. Do you see awe, panic, adoration in a single oval maw, in two glistening eyes, in a hand frantically clutching a camera strap? Do you believe cartoons are art? This painting is garish. It is clumsy. But it is so revealing of Atieno herself. I do not feel we can devalue it's worth simply because it does not seem to show any skill. If Claudia were still alive and could hear what I am saying, she would never speak to me again. But she is dead and cannot hear what I am saying and will still never speak to me again. So, what are you going to do? #TONE# Three: "Sunglasses and Cigarettes" (pencil sketch on paper) These are two men wearing sunglasses. They both hold cigarettes. Next to them is an unpleasant looking dog. The five-button suit jackets these men are wearing are dissimilar to the conservative business fashion of Council employees or the simple structure of police jackets. These men look quite different from usual police, even undercover officers. Atieno has also spent quite a bit of time on their mouths and hands. Notice the texture of her lines in these areas of the picture, much more detail on their tight countenances and tense physical postures. Their hands are clenched, cigarettes poking out of stone fists, their lips curled, not in anger, but stern concentration. And unlike agents from the Society establishment, they do not attempt to hide their observations of Atieno and her private home. Statespeople who appeared at Atieno's home often tried to gather information, but in a sociable and subtle manner. These two men, and their dog (a mixed breed, similar looking to a doberman pinscher, though) stand brazenly at the curb staring directly inside. Given the rectangular framing around this sketch, I believe Atieno drew this from the front window of an apartment she had lived in, years before I met her. It suggests she did not go outside to greet or confront them. I believe she was perhaps frightened (or at least dubious) of these men. And their dog. Claudia socialized with many politicians of the New Society, as well as other well-known artists and business owners. She wanted to be as important as her art. But the edges of these circles are contoured roughly with insidious people. People who do not trust nor like those within. These men and their unpleasant dog, were from some place we should not want to know. Look at the way they stand and stare. Do you feel watched? What do they know about you? Who do you think they report to? Do you believe in conspiracies? Claudia did. I saw men like these once, sitting at small tables on the footpath outside a small cafe in Cornwall. They watched me, smoking their cigarettes. I did not believe them to be anything other than well dressed men with a bad habit and an unpleasant dog, but Claudia was certain they were dangerous and covert operatives. I told Claudia if they were a threat, we should lay low, have fewer parties and get-togethers, but we did not. I don’t know how strongly Claudia believed in her own stories. We had more parties, with bigger, more important, more controversial people. Her then-lover Pavel Zubov brought many friends who talked often of the new new revolution. Nothing ever came of their bluster, but in an unstable new world, revolutions are not difficult. What happens after a revolution is another matter, of course. #TONE# Four: Lamp (oil on wood) Of this particular era of Atieno's life, during the height of her fame, this might be my favorite work, the type of work I encouraged in her, a piece which, when she finished it, I applauded and opened a vintage Cabernet from Marlborough I had been saving for such an occasion. Most of her paintings from this time pander to a broader pseudo-intellectual audience in search of strange, moderately confrontational art. A story they can tell others. A debate they can have over art's virtuosity and validity. They may say "this is not art," but that argument is the art itself. In Lamp, Claudia basically painted an inverted yellow V atop a brown circle on a flint background. It's geometric to be sure, and part of a post war revival of art deco, all of the evolutionary flourishes of art nouveau eradicated however. Here we see only the effects of a lamp, an incandescent shine in the dark, but the actual architecture of the device is missing entirely. I spent a full 20 minutes raving to Claudia about this work when she showed it to me in 1969. We had not known each other long, and our initial relationship was almost like a master and pupil. I could teach her nothing about the craft of visual arts. But we drank wine and talked late into nights. For all of her political and refined small talk at parties with celebrities and powerbrokers, I was (I flatter myself) one of the few people she could really talk to. There was Pavel, but their relationship was purely one of mutual and tumultuous passion for each other’s bodies. Claudia’s and my relationship was one of passion for creation. My praise of this painting - original in a way she had seemed incapable of; so bold, but not on-the-nose politically - went past her. I told her this (THIS) is what she should be creating. Not staplers or glorification of celebrity. Not copies of other works. She put the painting away and later told me she destroyed it. When the staff at the Ohara Museum told me they were showing this work, I flew to Japan just to see it again. I am glad she did not destroy it. Look at it's architecture, it's balance, or how it's teetering slightly. It's not physically possible, this lamp, but every element is in harmony. Look at that shade of yellow. Closely. How can a human make that color? It almost makes me angry. Which brush strokes on this painting do you resent? Are they the same strokes you admire? I'd like to tell you this is her finest work, but in the past few years, more tributes and derivations of Lamp have multiplied throughout the Modern Society art movement, her work itself seems to be a cheap replication of itself, rather than an original that inspired hundreds of copies. Perhaps this painting's brilliance has been eclipsed by the works it instigated. Or perhaps I'm the wrong person to be narrating your walk through this exhibit. There are several other paintings I could describe to you, but I think after just a few, you've gotten the idea. These works are decades old and you've seen countless tributes or copies of them. You don't need me to tell you what an clear acrylic box full of acorns means. It honestly doesn't mean anything, or rather it means Claudio Atieno recognized that quantity was greater than quality, that celebrity simply means that demand surpasses supply. If she could keep generating new work, she could keep putting on exhibits all over the world, filling the needs of art-hungry survivors of a terrible war and it’s apocalyptic aftermath. #TONE# Five: Box of Acorns (acrylic box, acorns) I already said you don't need to hear about this work, but I don’t know. Perhaps you do need to hear about it. There was an oak tree on the island of her home in Cornwall, and she collected the acorns. I watched her do it. She found this acrylic box in a warehouse of post-war debris. I was with her that day, and we marveled at the number of paintings and sculptures in that warehouse. (Wiki note: the following excerpt in square brackets was cut from the finished episode, but not the official transcript.) the war, but before the British Army was disbanded, the soldiers had gone through homes and businesses that had been abandoned for longer than sixth months after the Global Armistice. The presumption was death or complete abandonment of daily life, so salvageable materials were moved to warehouses or empty storefronts or large homes. The intention was to redistribute these collected items to those in need, but these storehouses were left unguarded, and often raided. The British Army was too busy being vivisected to care. The warehouse Claudia and I snuck into one day was full of works from some museum or perhaps a wealthy, art-loving citizen. Either way, Claudia pulled everything she (and I) could carry, including this clear box, which originally held an Imperial or Faberge egg. Claudia repurposed it for Box of Acorns, a half-witted attempt at post-modernism. I'd like to say she threw away the Imperial egg, but well. Here we go. #TONE# Six: Chicken and Faberge Egg (oil on canvas, imperial egg) She painted a picture of chicken with human teeth and then glued the egg to it. That the Ohara Museum would even include this work sincerely offends me. #TONE# Seven: Shetland Islands (oil on canvas) I'm not even going to continue with this. I just wanted another BEEP on your cassette, so you looked busy. If people aren't regularly clicking pause and play on their tape players, the folks at the Ohara would perhaps think I did a poor job. But I'm telling you I wrote a lot of garbage about Atieno here and sent it on to them for approval and they said "looks great." No notes or edits or questions. I'm positive they didn't read it. So I can say whatever I want. #TONE# Eight: Cafe Napkin (mixed media) Uninspired #TONE# Nine: Cow Skull (animal bones) Again, not even trying #TONE# Ten: untitled ostrich (watercolour on cardboard) crying I really didn’t th… ### stops abruptly #TONE# silence #TONE#The short replacement for the cut portion of the episode was not added to the transcript I'll stop beeping in your ears. No I won't. #TONE#In the original transcript, the #TONE# comes between "I'll stop beeping in your ears," and "No I won't." Eleven: There’s not actually a painting eleven, but I’ll just go on the idea you forgot to press stop, or you’re curious to see how far I’ll take this. I will tell you, though, that investigators found parts of Atieno's body two years ago. They weren't certain they were hers at first. Pieces of bone and clothing washed up on a lonely beach on St Agnes Island. Then this year they found teeth, and most of a torso, underneath several inches of mud, along a rocky beach. The torso had pieces of clothing that matched their previous clothes. They knew from the torso, that the body had fallen, been crushed by the hard slap of gravity. An eight-year-old girl found the body. The girl's attendant had to report the girl to retraining at The Institute - a place dedicating to ensuring that society’s new precepts aren’t disrupted. Not much is known about The Institute, and what is rumoured about them goes unproven, but… ...there is reason to be suspicious. There is reason to be more than suspicious. I'm positive that the scars of seeing human remains were less impactful than the scars of whatever… ...recalibrating they're putting her through now. Or perhaps she didn't know what she found. Just a blue-gray mound of fetid biology, vaguely human-shaped, partially preserved in salt and mud. Maybe the girl could make out the outline of a person in this rotten flesh lump. Somehow that’s even more frightening - something that looks human but is not. Is not any more. Crushed. From a fall, they said. but it wasn't the fall that killed her. She had been falling for years. It was the rocks. Or something that she hit. I shouldn't just say rocks. Out loud. I never forgave her for slighting her legacy in favor of fame. But maybe I am the one who needed to be forgiven. For demanding too much of her. For resenting her. For adoring her. For lots of things. Teeth and a torso. Someone should paint that. I'm sure you want your money back from this audio tour. Tell the folks at the Ohara that the tape player seemed broken. Or tell them that you didn't end up enjoying it. Don't tell them what I said. Or do. I don't care. I honestly don't. I loved Claudia. She was a gifted artist and giving friend. She had a period of work this museum seems to like, but which I find contemptible for its naked pandering. Maybe I'm just sad. I can't reconcile my feelings. I can't believe they found her body. I can't believe I don’t get to tell anyone anymore that she's still alive. I probably knew she wasn't but I could always tell myself she was. Bone fragments on a beach, near a home for pre-teens, the first post-war generation to grow up without parents. The great experiment, for a great new world. I don't know. Errors Category:Transcripts